


Peter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very-Bad Day

by Zalanchenko



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Peter is bad at social interactions, Wade is even worse, over done but do i care? no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 16:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17369204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalanchenko/pseuds/Zalanchenko
Summary: Peter woke up feeling like today was definitely going to be his day. Of course, this was an invitation for the universe to instantly prove him wrong in the most dramatic way possible.But this. This was definitely the worst thing that Peter could imagine happening to him. There was no turning this around. This was worse than exposing himself to half a million people, worse than showcasing his daddy issues surrounding Tony Stark to people he desperately wanted to view him as an adult, this was --“Deadpool, sweet cheeks. Wade Wilson if ya nasty.” There was an exaggerated masked up-and-down glance, “and for the record, I really hope you are.”





	Peter and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very-Bad Day

Peter woke up feeling like today was definitely going to be his day. Of course, this was an invitation for the universe to instantly prove him wrong in the most dramatic way possible. 

Now, since becoming Spider-Man nearly a decade ago, Peter had stopped letting the little things bog him down so much. 

For example, when his suit got horrifically, embarrassingly ripped during the fight with Electro last week and he had to swing nearly bare-assed across two entire boroughs. Yeah, he blushed with mortification every time he passed a newspaper stand the next day, but he moved past it with what Peter considered to be extreme dignity and grace. The city-wide appreciation for his assets had actually improved his public image somewhat. He only cried about it in the bathroom of the Daily Bugle once. 

Then, earlier in this week, when he accidentally called Tony Stark “Dad” in front of half of the Avengers and everyone laughed, even the supervillain they were leading away in cuffs. He still managed to turn it around and do a pretty impressive triple backflip as he swung away in mortification. The only consolation was that Tony clearly felt just as awkward about it as he did. 

Alright, maybe he wasn’t proving his point too much here. 

But this. This was definitely the worst thing that Peter could imagine happening to him. There was no turning this around. This was worse than exposing himself to half a million people, worse than showcasing his deep-seated daddy issues surrounding Tony Stark to people he desperately wanted to view him as an adult, this was--

“Deadpool, sweet cheeks. Wade Wilson if ya nasty.” There was an exaggerated masked up-and-down glance, “and for the record, I _really_ hope you are.” 

Peter felt like a spider trapped under a glass. All he could do was gape at the man in front of him and think, _Who wears this many weapons into a Starbucks?_

The barista that Deadpool was ogling squeaked in terror and pushed a latte across the counter with a trembling hand while Peter slumped down into his seat, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Of course Deadpool would be here. And Peter had felt so lucky to have nabbed a table all to himself. Now he was torn between continuing to defend his territory or fleeing before Deadpool decided to slide into the seat across from him. 

Deadpool didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hang out in a Starbucks, Peter reasoned. He seemed like more grimy hole-in-the-wall type of person. He was probably just going to order some kind of ridiculous frou-frou latte, scare some old ladies, unsuccessfully hit on some people, and run off into the night to do questionable things to questionable people. Spider-man had enough run-ins with the mercenary to know that he didn’t like to linger in the public eye for too long.

So, of course, when Deadpool turned to walk out with his drink he spied the one empty seat with Peter parked (ha!) behind in it resolutely staring into a Organic Chemistry textbook. Deadpool paused mid-stride and then changed directions to march over to where Peter was attempting to become invisible, sliding into the empty chair with about as much grace as a newly-born giraffe. 

“Mind if I sit, cutie-pie?” Deadpool asked, already sitting down and making himself comfortable. 

Peter opened his mouth to say _Yes, actually, I do mind very much actually,_ but at the last minute he had the horrifying thought that the mercenary may recognize his voice. He stopped halfway through the first syllable, letting out an aborted croak, paled, and then shook his head vigorously. 

The shake of the head was, of course, meant to signal to Deadpool that _No, don’t sit here, for the love of god, look, a bunch of people left as soon as you pull that .38 on the table like it was a Nerf gun, there are literally so many other places you could sit please go away I can’t deal with this please please please please -_

“Great!” Deadpool exclaimed. “You got a cold or something? Or are you a mute, like Legend of Zelda style?” He mimed swinging a sword in the air making “hyuh” sounds. 

Peter sent what he hoped was a withering glance before he could remember that, as a civilian, he should probably not be glaring at heavily armed men. 

_A cold,_ Peter mouthed, signaling at his throat. 

Deadpool tutted consolingly. “Haven’t had to deal with one of those babies in a while.” He lifted his hands to his face and shimmied the mask up to his nose, grinning widely. The broad smile made the scars around his lips twist and whiten tightly. “Although, I can’t really say the trade-off was worth it.” He waited for Peter’s reaction, then pouted when there was none visible. The scars had gotten less shocking after the third post team-up taco celebration.

Silence fell across the table. The other patrons of the store, in true New York style, decided to go on with life as usual as soon as Deadpool had failed to make a scene. Deadpool sipped his latte obnoxiously while Peter continued to hold his textbook in a white-knuckled grip. The cover creaked ominously when he forgot to hold back his strength. 

“So. You uh, come here often?” 

Peter blinked incredulously at the suddenly bashful mercenary and motioned to his textbooks. 

“Studying? Yeah, I can work with that. I totally graduated high school, I can #relate.” A pause, and then, “You always study reading upside down?” 

Peter blushed to the roots of his hair and flipped the book over, nearly toppling over both drinks on the table in the process. 

Deadpool guffawed loudly. “God, you’re like, the cutest little nerd ever, aren’t you.” His teeth were very white, Peter noted absently. Peter couldn’t help himself from smiling back reflexively. 

Suddenly, the merc straightened up in his seat and leaned forward. 

Peter tensed, waiting for his spider-sense to go off and dodge whatever assault was coming. Deadpool slowly lifted his hand, extending it forward. The world became slow motion as the mercenary reached towards Peter. The hero hardly breathed as the killers hand got closer and closer to his face, readying to flip the table and flee the restaurant if the mercenary suddenly declared that he was Spiderman to the entire store. 

The world narrowed down to the two of them, all of the noise and hustle of the store falling away.

“Boop!” 

Deadpool gently tapped Peters nose while Peter went cross eyed with the effort of following the motion. His mouth fell open, ready to blow his cover and yelling at the mercenary, but Deadpool was already halfway out of the chair and booking it across the store out to the crowded street. 

Peter remained staring at the place that the mercenary had just been inhabiting, mouth still hanging opening, brows started to furrow in an angry confused frown. 

A loud banging on the glass windows made him jump a foot into the air. Every patron, including Peter, looked out to see Deadpool plastering himself seductively across the glass, miming holding a telephone to one ear with one hand and pointing down with another, nodding emphatically. Peter looked at the table, where a scrap of paper was lodged in between the pages of his open textbook like a bookmark. 

When Peter looked back up, the mercenary was gone, with only greasy handprints on the glass remaining. 

Peter started to pack up his things with a sigh. Between the scrap of paper in his book and the other customers staring him down as if to say “What kind of a weirdo are _you_ that Deadpool gives you his number?” there was really no hope of any further productivity. He gathered his empty cup and the scrap of paper and headed to the garbage can to throw out the trash. 

As Peter walked out of the coffee shop, the weight of the piece of paper in his pocket seemed even heavier than his textbooks.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing that I wrote out trying to get past my writer's block for my non fan-fic projects!
> 
> I may turn this into a chapter fic if I get any semblance of a plot beside "Peter and Wade are adorable dorks who tip-toe around each other." I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it!
> 
> {title shamlessly referencing "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst, which will probably be changed if I continue with this fic. I'm just terrible at titles and can't be bothered to be original at the moment}


End file.
